


The Golden Apple

by thelogicalloganipus (awkwardkermitfrog)



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Gen, Mention of Death, Sanders Sides - Freeform, Theater - Freeform, Theatre, mention of poison, thomas sanders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 11:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12840537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardkermitfrog/pseuds/thelogicalloganipus
Summary: @logically-asexual on tumblr posted this:"Roman participates in a play and invites the others to go watch it, but they didnt know his character would die.His death is so realistic that Virgil actually screams and needs the other two to remind him it’s not real.Except the thought of Roman dying is so alive in his mind that he has to leave the theater in tears.Thank you for you attention."And I decided to make it a fic.Warnings: mention of death, mention of poison





	The Golden Apple

Virgil looked around the theater, unenthusiastic. Roman’s play was sure to be boring and he had better things to do. Well, maybe just listening to some music on headphones, or drawing, or watching Netflix; whatever the case, Virgil was unenthusiastic.

“Hey! Kiddo! Psst!”

Virgil closed his eyes, knowing that Patton was waving at him from about the middle of the auditorium. Doing nothing would draw more attention to the situation, as he was sure people were staring at Patton trying to call for him. 

“I think he’s talking to you?” 

Virgil opened his eyes and looked at an elderly woman who was eyeing him curiously.

“You sure do wear a lot of make up.” She murmured, raising an eyebrow. 

“So do you.” Virgil hissed, turning away and beginning to walk towards Patton, who was still waving. He climbed over several people’s feet and watched as Patton waited for him to get to his seat before sitting next to him. “You got my attention, you happy?”

“I am.” Patton patted Virgil on the knee twice and handed him a program. The cover was embossed, and Virgil turned it over delicately in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into something that would be thrown away. He opened it, ignoring Patton’s chatter as he read the list of actors. It looked like Roman would be playing one of the leads, as he was one of the first names listed. Virgil tuned in to the end of what Patton was saying, finally looking over at him as some people sat in some seats nearby. “...that be neat?”

“Uh.. yeah. Sure.” Virgil shrugged, agreeing blindly. “Where’s Logan, anyway?” 

“He said he couldn’t come tonight. Something about having too much to do.” Patton shrugged. “But he is coming to tomorrow’s show. And it’s not like you’ll be here long, Mr. Grumpy Gills. It’s a one act.”

“Mm.” Virgil sank deep into his seat, observing the delicate patterns in the ceiling and walls. “When does it start? Like, exactly?”

“Uh... lemme see.” Patton took out his phone but, just as he was about to light up the screen, the theater around them went dark. Patton gasped excitedly and pocketed the phone. Virgil smirked at the grin on Patton’s face and pulled his hoodie a little further around himself. Maybe this would be amusing after all.

A short man with a bowler’s hat came onto the stage, holding a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen. We are about to see a performance of Harold Munchsen’s one act play, The Golden Apple. We ask that you refrain from photography and put away all cell phones. Please do not exit the theater unless you plan to stay gone, as this is distracting to the performers and the audience. Now, without further ado, enjoy the show.” 

There was applause. Virgil sighed, not joining in. He wasn’t sure what he was even here for, other than Patton making him come. He watched as the curtains opened in the dark. A moment later, a spotlight was shone on a solitary figure to the left. The figure was wearing a dashing suit, and clutched a hat to his chest. He sighed, wistful, and looked out into the audience.

“Ah, the kingdom. Is it in ruin, as my father says? I do not know what to do, lest I be among the ranks of forgotten rebels. For how many regimes through history have actually fallen to their people? How many times can we say, ‘we won’? And if not, is one’s life a fair price to pay to be forgotten? Will history remember us as brave, or stupid? I laugh... I jest. I go forth, wondering what to say and do on these matters, uncertain anyone will listen to me.” The figure walked forward, and Virgil watched as a spotlight shined on a second figure - Roman. “This man, he holds the key to my salvation. But how do I approach him? How do I tell him that his decision - the decision of whether to give me, or my brother, the golden apple - will make or break the kingdom?” 

The lights on the stage came up, removing the need for spots, and Roman appeared to be studying a document. Virgil’s eyebrow raised, more interested than he would care to admit. The two characters talked for a while, and all the time, Virgil found himself increasingly invested in the plot. He watched with fascination as the king’s father brutally murdered his wife in order to maintain power and then told everyone she vanished. He tensed as he watched an adviser to the king tell them they had to decide whether to go to war. He cringed, a little, when Roman kissed his love interest, who then proclaimed she was only using him for political gain. But then - then there were the apples.

Virgil watched as the introductory character held up an apple to Roman, a golden one. He began to breathe a little quickly. _This is fiction. This is fiction,_ he reminded himself. But the apple was poisoned - the character had said he was going to poison Roman and take his place. 

“Ah, thank you.” Roman grinned, taking the apple from him. “I could use a snack, I’ve been studying all day.”

“I bet you could.” The character waited, tilted forward just slightly, anxiously watching as Roman bit the apple. “Does it taste okay?”

“A little funny, now that you mention it.” Roman swallowed, examining the apple in his hand. “A bit bitter. Like... something a bit rotten.”

Virgil felt his fists tighten, his eyes wide with fascination.

“Wait, I feel funny.” Roman stumbled backward, holding his stomach. “I don’t feel right.” He looked up at the main character, now clutching his abdomen in pain. “What did you do to me?”

“I think you already know.” The man sighed, watching as Roman began to cough and sputter. He went on monologuing - but Virgil wasn’t listening. He was fixated on Roman, on the absolute realism of his movements, on the twitching and cries of agony. He began to breathe more quickly, rubbing his hands on his jeans, trying not to speak. 

_Wasn’t there an actor who died on stage, and everyone thought it was a heart attack?_

Roman was panting. He looked like he was going to vomit, like he was going to collapse and - 

and -

“No.” Virgil whispered. “No no no.” He felt Patton’s hand on his shoulder, but didn’t look at him, eyes fixated on Roman. 

_Tommy Cooper, that was the actor who died and everyone thought it was part of the show. He died._

Roman was dying. Virgil was sure of it. Roman was dying.

Virgil froze, muscles stiff, as Roman finally collapsed. 

He didn’t hear the rest of the play. All he could think about was trying to urge his body to move, trying to urge his body to do something, but his legs wouldn’t work. The feeling had drained out of them, the color gone from his face. The audience had just watched Roman die. No- they’d watched him be murdered. And no one had batted an eye.

The house lights suddenly came up. Virgil watched, stunned, as Patton stood to applaud, many others around him standing as well. Curtain call. There would be panic at any moment, Virgil was sure. Everyone would notice when Roman, a titular character, didn’t appear. They’d start talking. Someone would say something. Panic would ensue. Everyone would realize what they’d really seen, what they’d let happen. Virgil leaned forward, pulling his hoodie over his head, and hunkering down. He groaned a little at feeling Patton’s hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his friend looking at him with a concerned expression.

“Too much stimulation?” Patton asked quietly, looking into Virgil’s eyes. Virgil nodded, unsure how to say the truth. He looked around as people began to file out into the lobby. Why was no one panicking? Why didn’t anyone see what he saw? 

“Come on. Let’s step outside.” Patton pulled gently on Virgil’s arm, ushering him upwards. Virgil felt himself moved down the aisle and out, into the lobby. He looked down, hoodie still over his head, and tried to ignore the oppressive loudness of the crowd. But then he saw.

Roman’s shoes. 

Virgil stopped, dead. He felt Patton trying to guide him, a little more firmly, but couldn’t move. His eyes traveled upwards, slowly, and then he stared at Roman’s backside. 

“Oh, Roman! You were so good! Virgil and I were going to just step outside for a quick breath of air, but we’ll come back.” Patton’s cheery voice felt distant from Virgil’s ears, like he was underwater. He didn’t dare to breathe as Roman turned around, smiling at them, and held up a glass of coke. 

“Ah, yes. Fresh air sounds alright. What did you think of the play, Virgil?” Roman stirred the cup a little with his hand, looking casual. “I personally think the death scene is a bit dramatic, but the director says that the drama adds to the loss of my character.” He paused, observing Virgil’s expression, and frowned. “Virgil... are you crying?”

Virgil blinked. He hadn’t noticed the tears building up in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that they were beginning to roll down his face. He had been so transfixed, so focused on Roman being alive, that none of that had occurred to him. He felt arms wrap around him, he didn’t know whose, and closed his eyes. A long, deep breath escaped his lungs, and then a sob, like someone who had suffered a great loss. 

“Come on. Let’s go somewhere quiet, okay?” Roman whispered, stroking Virgil’s back. Virgil nodded, shaking, and felt Roman let go of him slightly. The people around them were looking, staring, Virgil was sure of it. He looked down, wiping a tear from his nose, and looked up for a cue from Roman. Roman nodded and began to walk back to the theater. He turned and laughed, waving goodbye to the audience who remained, and then opened the door to the auditorium, allowing them both to step inside, Patton close behind. 

Virgil sniffed, walking close behind Roman, as they walked up to the stairs on the side of the stage and to the edge of the platform. Virgil watched as Patton hung back, unsure if he should be a part of the exchange, looking at Virgil for approval. He watched as Virgil frowned, but got the message, and proceeded to walk back out to the lobby. 

“Come on, Virgil, let’s sit down.” Roman sat on the edge of the stage and let his legs hand off. Virgil nodded, wiping his nose again on his sleeve and sitting next to him. The two were silent for a moment, Roman looking out in to the now empty auditorium, Virgil sniffling, letting out small incoherent sobs. 

Roman sighed. “So. Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” 

Virgil closed his eyes tightly and breathed in, but it came in gasps. He took another breath, trying to make himself stop crying. The tears, it seemed, did not want to stop. “It’s stupid.”

“No, no. If something made you this upset, it’s worth talking about.” Roman looked at him, still leaning back on his hands, and waited. “Or you could just cry yourself out. But I’d like to think you know you can talk to me.” 

“It’s really stupid.” Virgil insisted. “We should’ve stayed out there.”

“Out there? I don’t think you’re the kind of person who likes to cry in front of a crowd.” Roman mused. “I could be wrong about that, I suppose. Just doesn’t strike me as you.”

Virgil snickered in spite of himself. He looked up, at Roman, who was still eyeing him, patient. “Just... you’re a good actor. I guess. I just... I got really invested.” Virgil hiccuped and looked away, face red. “I mean, I’m glad you’re okay. I thought-I didn’t think-you were okay.” He found himself stumbling, stuttering.

“You... you thought that was real? With the apple?” Roman asked quietly. He watched as Virgil nodded, ever so slight. “It’s a play, you silly goose.” 

“I know that - I know! But you looked like you were dying. You really looked like you were dying!” Virgil found his voice rising in spite of himself, and he paused. “There have been so many stories of actors having like, heart attacks at just the right time. Or - or wasn’t it Bruce Lee who was killed by a bullet that was supposed to be fake? I mean... sheesh, Roman. It was a lot to take in.” 

Roman nodded, staring out into the empty theater, and let the words sink in. There was a moment where the silence filled the air between them, and Virgil was struck with just how quiet an auditorium could be.

“Do you know why I love the theater so much, Virgil?” 

Virgil sniffed. “I don’t know. Because you like to show off?”

“Because I can be anybody. But I don’t get to choose - not completely. The director has to decide who they think I can be, and then I have to find the best way to be them. It’s quite challenging and exhilarating.” Roman bounced his leg, looking still over the seats. “I still get stage fright. I still wonder if I’m going to mess up, or forget my lines. I used to do that a lot more. It’s funny - I took so many improv classes, but in the real moment, it’s a lot harder to think so quickly. Especially if you aren’t expecting a sudden change.” He looked at Virgil, who was listening attentively, makeup mostly washed off his face. “Your tears are very bittersweet to me. They tell me how far I’ve come as an actor, especially since I was young. But they also tell me how much it would pain you to lose me. And I didn’t think that you would take it quite so literally. I’m... sorry.” 

Virgil stared out into the chairs, the chairs which now housed ghosts. He swallowed and took a deep breath, shuddering a little less this time. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of his calming down, to the sound of the dust motes in the air. After a minute, he opened them again, finally feeling like he could breathe. 

“It was pretty good.” He whispered. “And... there is something magical about being up here.” 

Roman sighed dramatically. “Yes. There really is, isn’t there?” He hopped off the stage, stretched, and turned to Virgil. “Come on. I’m sure Patton’s waiting for us.” 

**Author's Note:**

> comments give me life.


End file.
